


a shared secret

by daisy_chains



Series: speak with honesty [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s01e03 The Mark of Nimueh, Gen, Magic Revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 12:04:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18180368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisy_chains/pseuds/daisy_chains
Summary: “It’s my fault you’re in here, but I won’t let you be executed in my place. I won’t.”





	a shared secret

“It’s my fault you’re in here, but I won’t let you be executed in my place. I won’t.” 

Merlin rushes off, barely giving Gwen the chance to process his words before he’s gone. She’s left wide eyed, staring at the wall as she puts together every strange thing Merlin has ever said, ever done. It fits into a picture Gwen isn’t sure she wants to see. 

But her father is alive, and her friend is the one to thank for that. She would give her life for her friend, she knows that, but what she fears most in this moment isn’t the pyre, much as that surprises her. No, she fears for her friend most of all. 

_Please don’t do anything foolish_ , she pleads, though the one she wishes would hear it is far from reach. 

⁋

Gwen is pardoned. She cries. 

She makes it all of five steps out of the throne room, the doors have barely shut, and she turns into Morgana’s ready and waiting arms and sobs. She isn’t sure how long they stay there, but the guards don’t mention it, pretend not to notice her bloodshot eyes and wet cheeks. 

And when it’s all said and done, she goes home. 

What else is she supposed to do? Linger in the castle when she can still remember how it felt to be dragged through the halls, how no one moved to help her even if they wished they could? She can’t. So, she goes home. 

Her father cries when he sees her, scoops her into a hug and refuses to let go. She sheds a few tears of her own, but by now she’s already cried herself dry. Still, she returns her father’s embrace and takes comfort in the fact that she’s here now, in his arms and not the dungeon cell. 

Even when they separate, they linger. Her father is never more than a few steps away, a constant presence that Gwen grounds herself with. 

⁋

“You’re not working today, surely?” 

Gwen pauses at the door, hand resting against the handle. 

“I just want everything to go back to normal,” she says, pushing aside the fact that the normal she’s always had is no longer possible. “The sooner everything gets back to normal, the sooner I can forget it ever happened.” 

“Alright.” Though her father agrees, she can hear the doubt in his voice. It comes from concern, nothing else, so she doesn’t let it bother her. “Well, make sure you’re home for dinner, at least. No working late.” 

“Alright,” she echoes. “I’ll see you later.” 

⁋

Morgana is surprised to see her. In fact, almost everyone is. 

“I thought you’d take the day off. I did tell you that you could, didn’t I?” Morgana asks, fussing over her as she makes the bed. Gwen can’t help the small laugh that escapes her.

“I will be fine, my lady. I can hardly sit around at home all day.” 

Morgana doesn’t respond at first, watching her carefully as she goes about the room doing the odd chore. Whatever the lady is looking for, she doesn’t find it. 

“Just don’t overwork yourself, Gwen.” 

“I won’t, my lady.” 

But Morgana isn’t the only one to mention it, as much as Gwen wishes people wouldn’t bring it up. 

“Do you want me to carry that for you, lass?” Gertrude, a kindly older woman asks as she passes her in the hall with a basket of laundry. “Certainly you could use a break.” 

“No need,” Gwen assures her, grip on the basket tightening almost protectively. “Thank you, though.” 

Other such offers follow her throughout the day, often accompanied by eyes that linger too long when they think she doesn’t notice. 

By the end of the day, she wonders if it wouldn’t have been such a bad idea to take a day off, after all. Maybe then everyone could shift back into their form of normal sooner. She doubts it. 

After wishing Morgana a goodnight, Gwen takes her leave. If she lingers too much longer, her father will worry. Well, more so than he already was. 

⁋

“Have you seen Merlin at all recently?” 

“Good morning to you, too, my lady,” Gwen says, stepping fully into Morgana’s chambers and shutting the door behind her. “And no, I haven’t. Why?”

Gwen imagines blue eyes turning gold, imagines Merlin hunched over a poultice as he whispers the words required to save her father’s life. She isn’t sure if she’s relieved she hasn’t seen him yet or concerned he hasn’t shown his face yet. A mix of both, if she’s honest. 

“Well, considering all the trouble he went through trying to get you out of the dungeons, I figured he’d at least have checked in on you by now.” Morgana rises from her vanity, eying the tray of food Gwen placed on the table. The smirk in her voice is clear as day, and Gwen’s blood runs cold. 

“What do you mean?” 

“He barged into the council chambers and claimed he was the sorcerer and not you in front of Uther and all of the council. Arthur convinced them all that Merlin was making it up, so he’s fine, of course. But he truly cares for you, Gwen.” When she fails to answer, Morgana turns her gaze from the food to Gwen. “Gwen? Are you alright?” 

“Yes,” Gwen answers faintly. “I’m fine.” 

_Merlin might not be_ , Gwen does not say, _when I get my hands on him._

⁋

She doesn’t see Merlin for the rest of the day. A check in all of his usual spots proves useless, but Gaius tells her that Merlin plans to go herb picking tomorrow. Perfect time to have a private conversation. 

So Gwen puts aside her curiosity on where Merlin has disappeared to for the rest of the day and plots out a picnic that spells out both “ _thank you_ ” and “ _pull that stunt again and it won’t be death by the pyre you’ll have to worry about_.”

⁋

That night, she tosses and turns in bed, anxious for the new day. By the time morning comes, Gwen can’t help but be relieved that she no longer needs to pretend to rest. 

Her father has already left, having decided to head to the forge early to catch up on work he had fallen behind on while ill. Gwen is alone in the house and so she shamelessly rushes about, dressing and almost running out of her home without the picnic basket she put together before bed or leaving a note to her father that she’ll be home late. 

Still, she manages to make it out of the house and to the edge of the woods in time to intercept Merlin in one piece. Well, mostly. Her sleeve caught on the door and ripped, but it’s small enough that Gwen doesn’t worry much. She can mend it easily. 

“Gwen?” Merlin stands before her, eyes wide in surprise, though she can see the fear lurking below.

“Hello, Merlin,” she responds, biting her lip as everything she had planned to say flees her brain the instant she needs it. Eventually, she hefts the basket up a bit with a smile. “I thought it would be a good day for a picnic. It’s been a while.” 

“It has,” he agrees, stepping forward hesitantly. “You sure you want to be alone out here with the big bad sorcerer?” 

“There’s nothing big or bad about you.” As Gwen says it, she realizes it’s true. Her fear for her friend is still there, of course it is, but her nervousness about seeing him, her fear of him not being who she thought he was all disappears. Merlin may have managed to keep a rather large secret, but he hasn’t the heart for lying beyond what’s necessary. He never has, and it’s something Gwen had always loved about him. 

“Really?” Merlin’s question drags her back from her wandering thoughts, a not-quite-hopeful smile creeping ever so slowly across his face. 

“Well,” she says, frowning as she recalls what Morgana had told her, “maybe it was rather bad of you to be yelling about having magic in front of King Uther and all his council.” 

“Someone told you about that?” Merlin asks sheepishly. When Gwen’s frown deepens, he shrugs. “It _was_ my fault you were in there. I wasn’t about to let you die because of something I did.”

It’s not the answer Gwen wants, but it’s the best she will get. Still, maybe it’s best to let this pass and tuck it into the back of her mind so she can stop him from repeating that almost fatal mistake in the future. 

“I’d still rather not watch you burn.” 

Merlin nods, not quite meeting her eyes. 

“And Merlin? Maybe your ears, as well.” 

That startles a laugh out of him, and she can’t help but join in. The tension between them eases with the sound. Not completely, not when there’s still much left to be said, but it’s enough. 

Gwen smiles as she watches her friend wipe laughter tears from his eyes, and reaches out a hand. 

“Well, come on, we should find a place to sit before noon has come and passed us already.” 

“Good idea.” Merlin takes her hand and if he holds on a bit tighter than normal, well, it would be a bit hypocritical of her to point it out. 

⁋

They don’t mention the magic again. Not until long after they’ve settled down on the grass in the clearing they somehow always end up in when they go to the woods. 

The picnic basket lies empty and just out of reach, the remaining crumbs of food surrendered to the ants. Gwen watches as one ant heaves a particularly large crumb of bread away, toying with her ripped sleeve. 

“I know why you didn’t tell me.” 

The grass rustles beside her as Merlin pushes himself up into a sit. 

“I understand. I do, really, but…” 

“But you still wish I’d told you?” 

Gwen turns to him and hesitates. Eventually, she answers, “yes.” 

He doesn’t say anything to that, there’s nothing he really _can_ say. They both know why he didn’t tell her, both know that it was a perfectly good reason. 

That doesn’t stop her from wishing he’d told her before.

“Show me something?” Gwen asks after a few moments of quiet. Then Merlin turns to her and she realizes what she said. “Not that you have to! But if you want to, of course, you could do something.”

She winces at her words, an apology working its way to her lips as he stares at her with an unreadable expression. Before she can speak, however, Merlin rests a hand against her torn sleeve and whispers a spell. 

“ _Sîwian clâð_.”

The frayed threads of her sleeve reconnect and weave themselves back together, and Gwen can’t quite look away. She does, just for a moment, to see Merlin’s golden eyes fading back to blue and his satisfied smile as he watched his handiwork, but watching the spell in process is mesmerizing. 

“Thank you,” she says once the rip is fully mended, examining the cloth closely. “You can’t even tell it was ever torn.” 

“Yeah, well, I have a bit of practice with that one,” Merlin explains, his voice taking on a particular humorous edge that only appears when the prince is bound to be mocked in some way. “For all his skill with a sword, the prat can’t seem to manage not to tear up every piece of clothing he owns. I swear, he does it on purpose half the time.” 

“I’m sure it isn’t on purpose.” Though even as she speaks, Gwen can’t help but laugh at how likely it was that the prince did that on purpose, once or twice at the very least. 

“No, you’re right. He’s too much of a clotpole to do that. It’s just his princely ability to make more work for me just as I’m finishing my chores for him.” 

Merlin goes on and on, waving his arms as he shares tale after woeful tale of how Prince Arthur is the biggest prattiest prat to ever walk the earth as she laughs until she can’t see through the tears in her eyes and her lungs beg for air. 

Eventually, the stories fade along with the laughter. Gwen rests her head against his shoulder and he wraps and arm around her in return. 

“We should do this again,” she says softly. “I enjoyed it.” 

“Next time, I fully expect a story that Morgana would murder me in my sleep for if she knew I’d heard it,” Merlin responds. He’s joking, she knows. Well, mostly. “And I’ll bring the food?” 

“I won’t have to worry about forgetting the basket that way.” 

“Sounds like a plan, then.” 

And they should get up now, return to Camelot, but the setting sun turns the sky a beautiful pink and the clouds look ethereal where they float. They should get up, but Gwen’s head stays on his shoulder and Merlin’s arm tightens around her almost imperceptibly. 

They don’t move for a long while yet. Not until the sun has long since set and Gwen is half-asleep where she sits comfortably against Merlin’s side. 

He helps her to her feet as the basket floats over to his waiting hand and the two begin their trek back home the same way they left, side by side with one’s hand clinging tightly to the other’s. 

As the door to a siege tunnel comes into view - one they are far too familiar with after days spent in the woods turned into nights in the woods a few too many times - Merlin’s steps falter. 

Gwen pauses beside him, head tilted in an unspoken question. 

“Thank you,” he breathes, squeezing her hand tightly. He doesn’t say what for, but then again, he doesn’t really need to.

“Of course, Merlin.” Gwen squeezes his hand back, waits for him to relax his grip before tugging him forward again. “You should go to bed once you get home. Tomorrow will be a long day with as little sleep as we’re going to get.” 

“Don’t worry, _mother_ ,” Merlin says, a grin flashing across his face briefly. “You get some rest, too, alright?” 

“If I don’t, Morgana will be the one doing the mothering.” She pulls him to a stop just around the corner from her home and hugs him. “Goodnight, Merlin.” 

“Goodnight, Gwen.” 

With a last shared smile, Gwen turns away and retreats to her home. Her bed calls her name insistently, and she isn’t inclined to ignore it for long. At the door, she pauses once more and glances back to see Merlin leaning against the wall of the alley across the street. 

One hand holds the door handle, a grounding feature that assures her this is real, she’s home and she’s safe and her friend is safe and all will be well. Her free hand rises almost without her permission, and she waves a final goodnight before entering her home. 

Sleep calls her, and Gwen gives into it freely, barely taking the time to change before collapsing onto bed. Sleep finds her much easier than it did the previous night. 

**Author's Note:**

> Me, remembering this series exists? (I never actually forgot it, but it sure has been a while.)


End file.
